


comfort

by aikanaro



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drabble, F/M, First Meetings, Grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25785472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aikanaro/pseuds/aikanaro
Summary: In Mithlond, Elladan finds himself consumed by his grief, but also meets someone he does not expect.
Relationships: Elladan (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	comfort

Elladan was angry -- so angry he shook with it, body and spirit. The sight of Mithlond made him so furious he felt sick. If he had been blessed with his father’s reason or his mother’s gentle nature, he might have been able to calm himself better, but as it was he simply sat on a terrace overlooking the endless sea and trembled in his fury. 

He had not wanted to come back here, he had _never_ wanted to see this forsaken place again. It had only been a few years since his mother had sailed. Not far from this very spot he had clung to his scarred and dazed _Naneth_ like an elfling and tried valiantly to assure her that they would be alright in her absence, that she should think of nothing but her own healing. A more heinous lie, he had never told. 

It was not that he begrudged his mother needing to sail, or that he resented her for going. But he was incensed that the world had harmed her. How dare anyone have laid hand on her, how dare anything have taken gentle, smiling Celebrían and broken her body and spirit. How dare _he_ have failed to save her. 

Logic said that it was hardly the fault of Mithlond that it had happened to be the place he parted from his mother, but still the sight of his surroundings sent that fury surging to the fore. When he saw the sea and the docks and even this pleasant garden terrace all the raw and bleeding places on him seemed bare and exposed. All he could think of was the last sight of his mother, of his helplessness to console the wreck that remained of his father after she disappeared over the horizon, and the feel of his sister shaking in his arms. 

He and Elrohir had spent the three years since that day scouring Eriador and slaughtering orcs. It helped with this rage, they had found. He did not feel better, exactly, but killing these things, _punishing them_ gave all this hate somewhere to go. 

There was no place for it here, where no orcs nor threat walked, and it threatened to consume him. Staring blindly out at the sea, hands balled into shaking fists, Elladan realized that he was crying. 

Just as he moved to try and wipe the tears away, he realized he was not alone. He turned, wondering who was about to see him in such a state. 

He was met with the sight of an elleth who had, thankfully, not seemed to notice he was there. Though he was uncertain why, he stared. She was tall and fine boned, with long brown hair that fell past her hips in a thick braid. She carried a basket under one arm and seemed to be walking in some hurry. 

Elladan watched as she passed him, almost holding his breath. He wondered for a moment if she held some ill intent that would explain why he was so aware of her presence. He shook himself. That was utterly absurd. He was just...distracted in by a pretty girl in his emotional state. 

He tried to break his stare by turning away, but succeeded only in making a noise as his shoe scraped against the stone beneath him. 

Abruptly, she turned toward the source of the noise and met his eyes. She looked at him for a moment, her delicate features twisting into a frown. He knew she must see his red eyes and flushed face from his weeping and he scowled to warn her away from saying anything. 

She walked a few paces toward him, even her footsteps quiet, before stopping just in front of him and bending her knee into a small curtsy. 

“Can I help you, Miss?” he asked, still doing his best to be off-putting without telling the woman to _piss off._

She shook her head, and reached into the covered basket. She pulled out a pastry, perfectly shaped and golden brown, with steam still rising from it and held it out to him.

He noticed as she did so that on the cuff of her simple brown dress there was a dusting of flour and some on one of her rosy cheeks too. She was not an ethereal, otherworldly beauty such as his own kin tended to be… but she was uncommonly pretty and he was terribly aware of it. 

Elladan was so wrong-footed, he took the pastry. 

“Thank you,” he said awkwardly, staring at her. 

She curtsied again, still without saying a word, and turned to hurry off in the direction she had been going before. 

“Miss!” he called after her, surprising even himself. Had he not wanted her to go away as fast as possible?

She turned and looked at him expectantly. 

“Do you...do you not speak? I pass no judgement if so, I only mean—”

 _I can_ , was the reply, a bare whisper even in his mind. _I only do not often. I am more prone to this, my lord._

“Oh,” he said aloud, “I see. Again….I appreciate this,” he held up the pastry. 

She nodded gracefully in acknowledgement. 

_If I may say so, sir, I would eat it while it is still warm_ , she murmured and smiled softly.

Elladan found himself uncomfortably captivated by the elleth, whose name he did not even know. He did not know _anything_ about her, save that from her dress she was a working woman, she had almost certainly made these pastries, and she preferred _ósanwë_ to speech. The not knowing was not the uncomfortable part, but rather how much he found he wanted to know her. 

He did not particularly want to acknowledge that he had been weeping or that she must know it. Not because there was shame in weeping - but he did not want to be asked if he was alright or what was wrong or speak of the terrible things that plagued him here. He wanted to thank her for saying nothing of it, but… to do so he would need to bring the thing up in the first place.

As though sensing this, she said, _There are some things there are no cures for, especially not from strangers. But comforts help. And food is made to be shared._

His eyes went wide in his surprise.

 _I am Díneneth_. _I must go now, but if you should find yourself in need of more pastries, speak to the cooks that work for my lord Círdan. They will know where to find me._

Then she turned on her heel, and left the terrace. 

Elladan blinked as though dazed and sat down hard on one of the benches nearby. 

He looked out at the sea and felt the sickening feeling rise again, but strangely he found the rage dulled and replaced instead by naked hurt. He could not even seem to muster his anger anymore and there was only the grief it had served to mask. He felt shattered, raw and bleeding. 

He hated Mithlond. He hated that he had agreed to come here to meet with Círdan, he hated that it all reminded him of what had happened and the damage that had been done to his family and, above all, that he could not prevent it. But all that hatred had served to keep the grief at bay before and now that it was falling away, the sorrow was overwhelming, like it would devour him. 

And so he did the only thing he could imagine and took a bite of the pastry. It was good he found, more than good, perhaps the best he’d ever had. It was soft and warm and the inside was filled with some kind of sweet berry. 

He ate slowly and stared out at the sun setting over the sea. 

Díneneth was right, he found. All this hurt, this enormous grief he carried, would not be easily cured. There was not really anything that could be said or done at the moment, but he felt soothed. He did not know the last time he had actually stopped to enjoy food, rather than treating it like an obligation. 

The thought of pretty Díneneth, too, and her whispered _ósanwë_ was a comfort. He did not feel so drowned thinking of her and he wished to know her, felt drawn in a way he could not describe. 

Perhaps tomorrow he would seek her again.

For now, that was enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this instead of my WIPs because I was feeling sad. I'm not sure if I'll make a series or continued parts of it, but do let me know if you'd be interested.


End file.
